


Simulacrum

by ausmac



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8274154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Two Jedi seek out the House of the Rose to indulge personal fantasies that ultimately collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Way back in the Golden Days of TPM I wanted to experiment with a story based on a Dominant/Submissive relationship and, using all my truly IMMENSE knowledge of the dom/sub culture (ie hardly any at all) I did a whole bunch of research (along with some interesting conversations with a fannish friend in the Dom/Sub scene, who told me a great deal about interesting things such as intriguing uses for clothes line pegs) and came up with what I hoped was a realistic view of this fascinating sexual subculture. A most interesting challenge to write it was, too.

He knew why he was there though it bothered him at some deep level that he’d made the choice to be there.  His life was  planned, ordered, organised into static repetitiveness.  He had no sex life.  He was bored and he needed a challenge. 

He was also, to use a common term, horney.  Tired of the limited release of his own hand he ached to have the void of his need filled.  It had taken a great deal of thought to work out exactly what it was that he needed. 

Not a woman.  There was nothing a woman had or could give that would satisfy him.  Nor did he need a man.  At least, not just any man.  He needed a particular man, one that was denied to him by circumstance.  Almost, he needed the image of perfection that a particular man offered and that his own place in life could not allow him to experience.  

He wanted his Master to take him and that could never happen.  He enjoyed the dominance of his situation but knew it could never be more than that.  Unless he sought a simulacrum, an imitation, something close to that much-sort after perfection. 

Months of research, carried out with his usual precise discretion, had finally located this place.  They called themselves the House of the Rose.  They did not advertise.  They did not promote themselves.  They were secretive and select and had answered his queries only after they had checked his credentials as carefully as he had scrutinised theirs.  Notoriety was not something they sought, nor was it something he wished.  They were private, select and very expensive. 

Luckily, they also made exceptions.  Apparently the idea of having a Jedi as a member intrigued them and they permitted him to apply at a highly discounted rate.  First, though, he must past their inspection, as they must pass his.  So he had put on civilian clothes, though his lightsaber was tucked inside his coat, hidden his braid under a cap, and taken a hire car to the discreetly unnamed address. 

He touched the door signal and a moment later was admitted.  The inside was neat, unremarkable and the door was attended by a human servant dressed in black and white, a quiet, neat individual who guided him silently through the quiet hallways and up to an office.  He was shown inside and introduced to the Manager, Mr David. 

Mr David was a middle-aged man with silver hair, calm hazel eyes who wore a dark suit and a gentle expression.  He showed the young man to a chair and sat behind a wide, neat desk. 

“So, Mr….” 

“Kenson.” 

“Yes, Mr Kenson.  We have checked your credentials and would be happy to discuss membership of the club with you.  I am sure you have many questions.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, watching the other man, his Force sense detecting no danger or darkness.  “I will learn more if you ask your questions first, Mr David, and tell me what you believe I should know.” 

“Very well.  The House of the Rose has been in existence for almost a century and in that time we have maintained a standard of discrete excellence second to none.  We are, as I am sure you know, an establishment for the practise of sexual dominance and submission.  Members join as either Dominants or Submissives – I understand you would wish to join us as a Submissive?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, saying nothing. 

“If I may say so, you would be an extremely popular addition to our Submissive enclave.  In fact, I think any number of our Dominants would fight for the right to be your Master,” and there he smiled, gently, “were we the sort of organization to allow violence, which are not, of course.  We have a very strict code of conduct, which I shall get to in a moment.  I just wish to ascertain if you quite understand the meaning of the term ‘Submissive’” 

“I assume it means one who is submissive to the will of another.” 

“Partly, a large of course.  But is also means being submissive to your own needs.  We are not torturers here, we are not sadists or masochists, there are other places for that.  Our Dominants do inflect some small amount of pain in the training of a Submissive, especially if the Submissive appreciates it.  But it is not our primary aim.  Our primary aim is pleasure.  There can be no pleasure if either party does not enjoy their role.” 

“And what would my role as a Submissive be?”  Obi-Wan asked. 

“Obedience, primarily.  Total and absolute obedience to the will of your Dominant.  It is one of the prerequisites for joining, you must agree to the Charter of Obedience.  To explain our limitations – no Dominant may inflect permanent harm on a Submissive, nor may they be made to do anything illegal.  Outside of those boundaries, a Submissive is required to do anything and everything the Dominant responsible for them demands while they are within the confines of the House.” 

The thought of such absolute control was fascinating and Obi-Wan found himself stirring at the thought.  “So – in effect – your become their slave.” 

“In effect, yes.  However, a truly wise and clever Submissive can control the Dominant as well.  It is, as I said, a place of mutual pleasure.  As you are given satisfaction, so you give your partner satisfaction.” 

Obi-Wan absorbed this information, looked for flaws.  “Is it possible to change one’s mind?” 

“Of course, we do not own you, Mr Kenson.  You register when you arrive for a specific time period and you may not make any demands on your Dominant within that time period.  However, you may approach me or any House organiser if you feel there is an actual problem you need to discuss and you will be given a Safe Room for the duration of that residency.  However, any member who causes disruption or makes a false claim is expelled and their membership is voided.  It is essential to maintain the proper decorum and to behave within the Charter.” 

“Do the Dominants have such a Charter?” 

“Of course.  While I cannot give the details of it, any man of common sense can work out the more logical properties of the Dominants Charter.  We do suggest a trial visit – you come in for a half day as an Observer Submissive, which means you cannot be required to obey by a Dominant but may chose to do so if you wish.  It gives prospective members the opportunity to see if they can fit in.  And it is a matter of fitting in, Mr Kenson.  You must come to understand you place and find that level at which you achieve your most perfect satisfaction.  Finding the right Dominant is, of course, a very important part of that.” 

“I know what I’m looking for there,” Obi-Wan said, sitting forward in his chair.  “I presume I have some say in that.” 

“Of course, we would not force you to go with anyone you did not like.”  The older man picked up a datapad.  “I see you have specified certain physical and intellectual points.  Tall, slender, an older man, preferably with long hair, strong and authoritative,cultured,  intelligent and not overly talkative.  I believe we have one or two Dominants who would fit this description. Do you have any further questions?” 

“Many, but I don’t believe I can have them answered without experiencing your – services.” 

“Of course.  Would you like to take a tour of the general areas of the House?  I cannot show you the members’ areas, of course, since we are operating now, but I can show you the restaurant, the pool and the library…” 

The older man led Obi-Wan into the House, along the wooden floors covered with deep wine-red carpet, past walls decorated with original artwork.  Music played from hidden speakers and quiet servants moved from room to room with trays carrying wine and food.  It felt like a quality hostel.  It was much more than that and Obi-Wan could sense the sexual vibrations in the air around him.  It was a good sense, though, rich with life and discovery. 

They were making for the Library when a tall man walked towards the Club Manager.  His long black hair was tied back in a tail and he wore dark blue on a very fit and attractive body.  Dark eyes swept over Obi-Wan before turning to the Manager. 

“Mr David, has my mail arrived yet?”  The voice was deep and rich. 

“Yes, Mr Quinn, I have transferred it to your console.  May I introduce Mr Kenson, who is currently considering joining us.” 

The tall man studied Obi-Wan and smiled, showing white teeth.  “As?” 

“A Submissive,” the Manager said, and the tall man’s smile became a little sharper. 

“Ah.  This must be our little Jedi.”  He held out his hand and Obi-Wan took it instinctively, found himself held in a firm, warm grip.  “A very great pleasure, Mr Kenson.” 

Obi-Wan watched the violet blue eyes assessing him and he withdrew his hand gently.  “Pleased to meet you also, Mr Quinn.” 

Obi-Wan had never seen anyone with such quiet power in a simple glance.  He finally looked away and heard the deep voice again, the tone on the edge of laughter.  “Oh yes, I think we should definitely become better acquainted.” 

He looked up as the tall figure turned and moved off, grace in every movement.  He looked up at Mr David’s quiet features. 

“Who in the Sith was that?” 

“Mr Quinn is one of our most popular members, possibly the best Dominant in the House.  He is unattached at the moment but you should be aware that he is very demanding.  He is something of an artist where power plays are concerned.  He has never, to my knowledge, been bested by a Submissive.” 

That sort of challenge was very difficult to ignore.  At the end of the day, Obi-Wan had more or less decided to give the House a try.  And he looked forwarded to meeting Mr Quinn again…..

 

 

Qui-Gon Jinn studied the man across the desk from him and wondered what the older man must think of a Jedi Master wanting to join his discreet, expensive little sexual playground.  The Jedi Master concerned wasn’t too sure what to think.  He only knew that something had made him search this place out, something all tied up with frustration and need and the oddest sense of purpose.  In the end, it was simply something he wanted to do. 

Whatever Mr David really thought, no sign of anything but calm courtesy showed on his pale features. 

“I’m pleased you decided to visit us for an appraisal, Mr Quon.  I thought you might have changed your mind.” 

Qui-Gon’s sense of strangeness was increased by the unfamiliar clothes – he had rarely worn anything but his Jedi tunics for all but the first couple of years of his life.  “I almost did.  This is quite uncharacteristic behaviour for me.  However, once I make a decision I dislike being capricious.” 

“That is not a term I would think of applying to you, Mr. Quon.  So, did you have the opportunity to consider the membership application?” 

“Yes, I have some questions.” 

“Or course, please..” 

“The matter of Dominants.  Is it necessary for them to have experience?” 

“Not necessary, but preferred.  However, more than experience, it is vital they have the calling for it, the mindset of the Dominant.  No amount of experience can turn a neutral into a Dominant.  It is more likely a Submissive would become a Dominant, since they at least understand the structure of the relationship.  You must be inclined to dominance to be a Dominant.  The rest comes with time – and with the right Submissive, of course.” 

Qui-Gon nodded, stroked his beard thoughtfully, watching Mr David with his usual calm intent.  “I am not given to aggressive behaviour, Mr David – it is neither part of my nature nor my interest.” 

“Aggression is the last thing we wish to see in a Dominant.  Control,  the ability to manipulate and manage a Submissive, those are the important things.  It is more a positive state of mind than an aggressive one.  Our very best Dominants are generally very quiet men.  Allow me to…” 

He was interrupted by the door opening as a young man walked into the room – or more correctly, sauntered in.  His slender body was squeezed into a pair of very tight black leather pants and a sleeveless white top and he moved in a way designed to attract the eye of any suitably inclined human male.  He was also exquisitely attractive with pale creamy skin, honey blonde hair and tilted grey eyes.  He walked across the room and perched himself on the edge of the desk. 

“Someone spilled perfume all over my carpet, Mr David,” he said in a soft, melodious voice.  He turned his attention to Qui-Gon and smiled sweetly. “My room reeks of musk. . .” 

“Yarin, I’m in the middle of a meeting.  How many times have I requested you knock on my door before coming in?” 

One pale hand was waved.  “Oh, dozens of times, but I’m sure you’re not serious.” 

He looked back at Qui-Gon, ignoring the mildly annoyed frown of the Manager and leant forward, reaching out with one hand towards Qui-Gon’s belt. 

“You must be our proposed new Jedi Dominant…is that a lightsaber…?” 

Before the hand could touch him Qui-Gon moved with lightning speed and grasped the slender wrist with his right hand and held it away from him.  “And I’m certain I did not give me permission to touch anything of mine, young man.” 

Yarin froze in mid-movement, his arm still and looked across into Qui-Gon’s cool blue stare.  “I am sorry, but you seem to have hold of my arm.” 

Qui-Gon’s hand slid up to take Yarin’s and he ran his thumb across the warm, soft palm.  “It seems I do.”  He held it for a moment longer, then let it drop and sat back, holding the bright eyes with a Jedi Master’s instinctive commanding presence.  After a few moments the young man shook his head, blinked and smiled. 

“You don’t happen to sing, do you?  No?  Pity, you’d be almost perfect if you could sing.”  His smile was enchanting, mischievous and sensual.  “I’ll take myself off then, and set about airing out my rooms.”  

Qui-Gon deliberately did not watch that seductive figure glide out of the room, turned his attention to Mr David, and arched up one eyebrow.  The older man laughed. 

“Yes, he came to inspect you.  He’s a scamp and has been known to drive perfectly sane Dominant’s to drink.” 

“I have trained three padawans during my life, all of them young people and each one designed by nature to test the patience of the most controlled Master.” 

“Then perhaps you should learn to sing,”  said Mr David with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

After a long run of dangerous and tiring missions, they had finally been given a break – four weeks of downtime, no missions, no plans.  His Master had said, go and enjoy yourself and that had been enough of an excuse return to the House of the Rose and find out if what it offered was what he needed. 

Mr David had welcomed him back and given him a set of documents to sign, waving certain temporary rights of freedom, agreeing to private health insurance and signing away a small part of his carefully hoarded income.  He’d also been given a white ring to wear, formed in the design of a rose vine, with tiny flowers and thorns. 

“You’ve probably wondered about the symbolism,” the older man had said as he’d slipped the ring on the third finger of Obi-Wan’s right hand.  “It is a fragile flower equipped with thorns that can draw blood – a suitable dichotomy for our organization.  You will notice we all wear these rings.  White is for staff or guests, silver is for Submissive members, gold for the Dominants.  When a permanent relationship forms the Submissive places the Dominant’s gold ring next to his silver – they actually join together and become a single ring.  That way he cannot be approached by another Dominant.” 

Obi-Wan twisted the ring on his finger as they walked through the public areas and past a set of double wooden doors.  The doors opened into a large living area with a real wood fire, thick carpets and a number of comfortable arm chairs.  A small musical ensemble were playing  Coruscanti classical pieces in one corner while waiters moved through the room with trays of food and wine.  

Some of the chairs were occupied.  Here and there couples sat together talking, reading or drinking.  There was occasional laughter and the sound of quiet conversation.  There were as many single men, reading from datapads or simply talking to other individuals in the relaxed atmosphere.  It felt more like a typical hotel than a sex club and Obi-Wan felt himself relaxing in the placid ambiance. 

He wondered if Mr David was Force sensitive, as the older man held up one hand in a descriptive sweep. “As you can see, we are as much a social group as anything.  All our members are healthy, well-educated, stable and – in some way – attractive.  They come here, as often as not, just to relax as for any other purpose.  We have games rooms, gymnasiums, saunas and hot tubs, an advanced holographic interactive training area and numerous guest and members suites.” 

Obi-Wan nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.  “It seems – very nice.”  He scanned the room again and stopped as he caught sight of a remembered dark head.  He saw he was being watched and felt a little thrill of excitement as Mr Quinn stood and walked towards him. 

“So you’ve come back.”  He held out his hand and Obi-Wan took it automatically, froze as the long fingers spread his hand so that Quinn could see the ring. “Just as a guest, Mr Kenson?  I had hoped you would be with us on a more permanent basis.”  The warm fingers stroked his palm and his curled his own fingers into the grip before gently withdrawing his hand. 

“Perhaps I will.  If I find the company to my taste.” 

He saw the flash of teeth, the bright flare of watchful eyes.  “I’m sure Mr David is very busy – perhaps you would like me to continue your – education.” 

Obi-Wan blinked, fascinated in spite of himself by the aura of power emanating from the tall man.  “Thank you.  I think I’d like that.” 

They walked together for a time and Obi-Wan found himself relaxing in the taller man’s presence. He tried to guess his age – perhaps middle to late 40’s, no sign of gray in the dark hair but a deep voice and the certain strength of maturity.  

When Quinn  was called away for a communications call, Obi-Wan stood off to one side, considering his options.  His Force sense told him that this was right for him, that his future was somehow tied to events here.  As he tried to understand how such a peculiar circumstance could possibly work within the planned and ordered life of a Jedi Padawan, he found himself under the scrutiny of another man who had just entered the room.  He moved his hands casually to his front so that the white ring was visible. 

It didn’t seem to deter the other man.  He was big, taller than Quinn, a solid mass of muscle that had obviously seen many hours of heavy work.  Though rarely phased by sheer bulk, Obi-Wan felt himself dwarfed by the big man who stalked over to him and looked down with the interested gaze of a predator. 

“Hullo, little man?  Has anyone offered to show you – anything?” 

It was his first meeting with an unintroduced Dominant and he wasn’t sure how to react, so he fell back on his natural courtesy.  “Thank you, I have someone showing me around.” 

Eyes wandered freely over his body in an almost tactile embrace.  “Pity.  I’m very good at instruction.”  He flexed one arm, his big hand moving out and for a moment Obi-Wan thought he was about to be fondled in public by a total stranger – then realised he was being offered a hand to shake.  He took it out of surprised embarrassment, felt himself held fast in a rock-hard grip. 

“I’ve heard we were being inspected by a young Jedi.  You’d enjoy being with me.  I’m the best Dominant in the House.” 

“Bragging again, Janus?  You’ll put your back out patting yourself, if you’re not careful.” 

The big man dropped Obi-Wan’s hand and swivelled his head, eyes narrowing.  “Quinn.  I should have known.  One day…” 

Quinn slipped next to Obi-Wan, gathered the Padawan’s hand and slipped it under his arm.  “One day you’ll grow a personality to match your undoubted physical attributes.  No, don’t get all stormy, Jan.  You know those ugly frown wrinkles will just come back.  I’ll let you beat me at a game of Tabbac tonight, alright?”  He smiled and led Obi-Wan away from the obviously frustrated giant. 

“What was…”  Obi-Wan began, and Quinn laughed softly. 

“Janus is hungry for a new challenge.  Don’t mind him, his bark is definitely worse than his bite.” 

“And is yours?”  Obi-Wan asked, daringly. 

Quinn stopped, looked down with a smile.  “One way for you to find that out is to change that ring for a silver one.  Then spend the next few days in my room.” 

Obi-Wan twisted the ring between his fingers and looked up into the dark eyes, his own expression thoughtful.  He was attracted to the man, there was no doubt of that, but there was still so much he didn’t understand.  “I find all of this intriguing but there is a great deal I don’t know.  I am not even certain of how I fit into this, or if I do.” 

Quinn nodded and slid his hands into his pants pockets.  “Yes, it is different here.  If you would care to join me in my quarters for a glass of wine, I might try and explains a little more to you.” 

“For wine.  In your quarters.”  Obi-Wan flexed a single eyebrow up and the older man smiled mildly. 

“Just that, nothing more than conversation.  There is plenty of time for other things.” 

“Very well.  Thank you, I believe I will.” 

Quinn led him up two levels and into the quiet private region of the House.  His own room were suitably comfortable – a large parlour, bedroom, bathroom and a small training room.  After a tour of the rooms and a glance at the typical view from the wide windows, Obi-Wan was about to sit in one of the parlour sofas when Quinn spoke. 

“I should like to try an experiment.  You might find it instructive.”  Obi-Wan turned to find Quinn leaning against the wall near the bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest.  “Are you interested?” 

“That depends,” Obi-Wan answered, tucking his own hands behind him, “on what you mean by experiment.” 

“Don’t be concerned, I have no intention of touching you.  I simply want you to do something for me that will show you certain things more clearly than any amount of conversation.  Are you game?” 

A small thrill of excitement flushed along Obi-Wan’s nerves and he tilted his  head in an expression to polite interest. “Of course.” 

“Very well.  I want you to go to the wall near the door and stand in front of it, facing the wall.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Obi-Wan turned and stepped up to the wall.  Quinn spoke again, his voice deep and measured.  “Raise your arms, spread them wide and place your hands on the wall.  Press yourself as close to the wall as you can.  Then close your eyes.” 

Obi-Wan followed the instructions, intrigued in spite of himself.  He pushed his body against the wall, arms up, palms flat to the cool stone. 

“You will not move, nor speak or make any sound until I say you may.  You will not use the Force to sense anything beyond yourself.  Nod your head if you understand” 

Obi-Wan found himself nodding in response and after that there were no further words.  He waited for further instructions but none came.  So he stayed where he was, pressed to the wall, feeling oddly disoriented in the unfamiliar place with a virtual stranger watching him behave in an atypically odd manner.  He centred himself, sought meditative calm but was inundated by a flutter of feelings.  

Embarrassment. . . Curiosity.. . .  a small twinge of fear that he put aside for future study. . . a  growing sense of unease, both for himself and concerning the man somewhere behind him.  He listened, heard the rustle of fabric, soft movement, long moments of silence, the clink of something hard…. 

Time drifted and he tried to meditate, to rise above the growing sense of impatient concern and just as he’d decided to open his eyes Quinn spoke. 

“Alright, you turn around now.  Open your eyes.” 

Obi-Wan lowered his arms and turned around.  Quinn was sitting in a chair near the windows holding a glass of wine.  “Would you like a drink?” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Obi-Wan crossed the room and sat in the chair on the other side of the table, accepted the drink with a nod of thanks.  After he’d taken a sip he looked back into Quinn’s calm, watching eyes. 

“And what did that reveal?” 

“To me?”  Quinn smiled, poured more wine into his own glass.  “Well, it showed me you are a classic Submissive, for one thing.” 

“How so?” 

Leaning back in the chair, Quinn sipped his wine and studied Obi-Wan over the top of the glass.  “If I’d asked a Dominant to do that, he would have stood there, probably with his hands on his hips, and refused, undoubtedly recommending I seek medical attention.  A neutral might have agreed but after a minute or so would have grown bored and left.  You did neither – you stood there, facing the wall for..”  He looked down at the clock on his table, “…for almost five minutes because I asked you to do.” 

“And that makes me a Submissive?”  Obi-Wan set down his glass and folded his hands on his lap, thoughtful.  “How so?” 

“You have to understand the nature of what it is we do here.  Shall I tell you what you felt?  You were nervous, uncertain, a little embarrassed at doing something foolish.  I asked you not to use the Force – did you?” 

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly, “No, I didn’t.” 

“And why is that?  Why should I, a total stranger, be able to tell a Jedi not to use the Force?” 

“You seem to have the answers,” Obi-Wan said coolly, “you tell me?” 

“I will.  You did what I asked you to do for a very good reason – because you wanted to.”  Quinn’s voice warmed and Obi-Wan found himself almost mesmerised by the deep resonant tones.  “That is the central truth of the role of the Submissive.  I cannot force you to do anything – somewhere inside yourself you must want to do it.  All I do, as a Dominant, is strip away the outer layers of behaviour and allow you to experience that truth.” 

The words swirled around in Obi-Wan’s brain…want to do it….want to obey…”And what do you get from the experience?” 

Quinn’s smiled deepened.  “You must allow an old Dominant to harbour a few secrets.  Suffice it to say, its rather like that  law of physics – for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  What I can do for you mirrors what you can do for me.”  

Obi-Wan made the mistake of looking into those violet eyes and found himself locked there, held by will alone.  “Will you let me teach you about yourself, little Jedi?” 

Before he realised it he was agreeing and he watched in mute amazement as the white ring was replaced by a silver one, and a gold matching ring was slipped alongside it.  A hand raised his chin as lips touched his briefly, then were gone before he had an opportunity to assess his own reaction. 

“You may tell yourself,” the voice said that was already working its way into his psyche, “that you can walk away any time, and of course you can, the door swings both ways.  The challenge is to remember that you cannot walk away from yourself.”  The hand slid up to his hair and stoked it with a gentle possessive touch.  “I shall try to make you forget that you ever wished to.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Qui-Gon received Obi-Wan’s message of his plans to holiday alone for a few days it left him with no further excuse to delay his decision.  Some peculiar current in the flow of his life had drawn him to this point and though he might recognise the strangeness of his behaviour in wanting it, he recognised the hand of Fate as well.  With a small prayer to the Force for guidance, he packed a single bag and left the Temple to travel back to the House of the Rose. 

Mr David met him again and seemed genuinely delighted to have him signing up for full membership. 

“You seem, if I may say so, to have a natural affinity for the Dominant.  Now, we must just find you the right Submissive…” 

“Is Yarin available,” he asked without thinking. 

Mr David nodded, thoughtful.  “He is, and he is interested in you – but it is only fair to warn you, Mr Quon, that young Yarin is not the most sensible choice for a new Dominant.  I  intend no insult to your people handling skills, but he is something of a handful.  Do not mistake me, there isn’t a nasty bone in his body, but he does enjoy teasing Dominants, especially those new to the game.” 

“Yes, I understand that.  He is, however, very much to my taste and if I am acceptable to him I should like to arrange a meeting.”  He focused on the Manager’s face.  “Do you have any advice for me?” 

The older man smiled.  “Advice?  Follow your instincts.  He respects strength and desires domination as any Submissive does.  He just resists giving into those desires a little more than most.  To use the old cliché, the steel grip in the velvet glove is what will serve you best with him.  Beyond that, you must discover the way of Dominance yourself.  Now, let me go over the Charter with you and explain all of our services and conditions. . .” 

Once the official matters were settled Qui-Gon was shown to his rooms.  The Club had paid close attention to his needs and his rooms were comfortable without being ostentatious and he felt very much at home as he surveyed the clean and elegant rooms.  He tossed his bag into a cupboard and left to go on an exploratory wander.  The gold ring on his right hand felt a little strange, since he’d never worn jewellery but amongst the large strangeness of the House itself it faded to insignificance. 

He finally found Yarin in the dining room having lunch with a group of friends.  The three Submissives watched Qui-Gon’s approach with interest and the Jedi noted that all of them were individually almost perfect.  One was blonde, in  his mid twenties with enormous soulful grey eyes,  the other was a red head  a few years younger with creamy skin and freckles and warm brown eyes.  Qui-Gon stopped by the table and nodded his head in greeting as Yarin introduced his friends. 

“We were just discussing you, Master Jedi,” Yarin said in his soft voice.  “I told them you’d be back but they didn’t believe me.  I said, didn’t I Zelly, he’ll come back so I can teach him.” 

His two friends gaped at him, obviously surprised at the sight of a Submissive publicly provoking a Dominant.  Qui-Gon noted it absently, his entire attention focused on Yarin.  “I see.  And what exactly do you believe you can teach me, young man?” 

He cupped his chin on one hand, the picture of innocence.  “Why, to sing, of course. What else could I mean?” 

“I believe,”  Qui-Gon said, calmly, “that we need to talk.  If you would like to join me. .now.? 

“If?”  Yarin stroked a finger down his nose.  “I don’t know, I haven’t quite finished…” 

Qui-Gon sent a flick of the Force out to the young man, snapped it across his buttocks where they rested on the chair.  Yarin twitched upright with a small yelp of surprise and looked up at Qui-Gon in amazement.  Before he could speak Qui-Gon leant over and spoke to him, very softly. 

“I think you’re finished.  And I believe the word I said was – now.” 

He had no experience at being a Dominant, but almost thirty years experience at being a Jedi Master and he used that experience to project his authority.  Yarin reacted to instinctively,  slid to his feet and looked up at the tall Jedi with the wary expression of someone who’d prodded a sleeping lion and wasn’t sure of the size of its teeth… 

Qui-Gon turned and left the room without looking to see if Yarin was following.  When he reached his room he stopped to key in the door code and the young man stopped beside him, breathless. 

“Could you…walk a little slower…? Not all of us have long legs…you know!” 

“Out of condition as well as impertinent.  I believe a training regimen is called for.” 

“Impertinent!”  Yarin dodged into the room past Qui-Gon, bounced on the balls of his feet.  “No-one has ever called me that.  Perhaps I made a mistake!  Perhaps I need to be with someone who will better appreciate me!” 

Qui-Gon moved across the room around the young man, took off his robe and folded it over the back of a chair and removed his lightsaber and belt, sighing at the comfort gained from the loosening of his clothing.  

“Excuse me, I believe you wanted to talk.” 

“I did.  When you are quiet I will talk.”  He turned, hands folded behind him, to look down into stormy gray eyes and realised again just how striking this young man was with his elegant bones and quicksilver brightness.  Without thinking he put out his hand and stoked the soft cheeks, his fingers sliding up and into the soft hair at the back of the young man’s head. 

Yarin had been about to launch some new verbal response when the warm hand caught him in mid-breath.  Mouth open, he stared up at Qui-Gon, caught in the honest strength of that touch.  What he might have been sensing Qui-Gon couldn’t tell but there was a fair communion between them at that moment, the exquisite young man and the Jedi seeking something he wasn’t sure he would ever find. 

He took Yarin’s hand, lifted it and touched the silver ring with one finger.  “I cannot guarantee singing, young one, but I do not believe you will be otherwise disappointed.  Would you have a Jedi as your Master, Yarin?” 

There was hardly a beat of hesitation in the words or the irrepressible grin.  “I thought you’d never ask!”

 

 

In the years since he had become Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi had often been afraid.  Fear was something to overcome but even a Jedi could not deny it existed.  He was only human, after all, and fear is an alarm triggered by the body in times of danger. 

Even though he was fairly sure he wasn’t in any danger he was still afraid.  But of what?  Humiliation?  Pain?  Or of finding out truths that were better hidden at the bottom of his psyche? 

He was, after all, where he was in order to have sex with a total stranger.  Not only that, but to allow himself to be used as a sex object. 

Obi-Wan felt the warm stir in his groin at that thought and shook his head.  He was excited, stimulated by the idea, by the thought of Quinn controlling and using him.  The picture wasn’t perfect, but it was close.  Perfection would have been having Quinn replaced by someone circumstances didn’t allow him. 

Quinn had ordered in a meal for both of them and they’d eaten it in a perfectly normal fashion.  After they’d finished and the wine had bee put in the cooler Quinn had left Obi-Wan alone, which pleased him for it gave him time to think.  To consider whether he had gone totally, completely insane. 

He could just get up, walk out the door and no-one would stop him.  Reason said do that, leave before you compromise yourself.  The other part of him, the noisier more insistent part, was bubbling away with excited dread at the idea of being taken, dominated and handled by another man.  

He jumped slightly as the door opened and Quinn walked in – and then he sat up abruptly at sight of him, at how he was dressed. 

He’d changed from his simple blue suit into brown boots, leggings, cream tunics wrapped at the waist with a sash and topped by a brown leather belt. 

//All he needs it a lightsaber to complete the picture.//  The thought popped up and he pushed it aside to admire the view.  The dark hair was plaited into three braids, the two smaller side braids pinned at the top of the larger one which hung half-way down his back.  Quinn stood inside the door, hands resting on his hips, dark eyes watching Obi-Wan with quiet intent. 

“You decided to stay.  Well, it’s time to get started then.  I thought you might find this outfit a little more stimulating.  I don’t normally dress up – but you aren’t exactly a normal Sub.  So, the rules again.  From this moment on you will obey me without argument.  I will take any questioning of my word as a challenge to my dominance and you will be punished.  Do you understand?” 

Obi-Wan nodded, fascinated.  “Yes.” 

“You will respond to questions or instructions promptly and to the bet of your ability.  You will call me Master or Sir.  For the next two days you will not leave these rooms without my permission.”  As he spoke in a calm, mesmeric voice, he walked across the room to stand in front of Obi-Wan.  “Undress.” 

Obi-Wan stood slowly and his hand moved to his coat.  Quinn frowned. 

“I don’t believe I said slowly.  Move faster or I’ll tear the clothing off you.” 

Increasing his pace, Obi-Wan removed his coat, shirt and pants, boots, socks and undershirt, standing finally only in his smallclothes.  Quinn raised an eyebrow. 

“Everything.” 

With a deep breath, obi-Wan squashed a flush of embarrassment and slid the smallpants down his legs and put them with his other clothing, turning to stand naked in front of Quinn.  The older man walked around him, trailing one finger across Obi-Wan’s chest, upper arm and back, making the hairs on his upper body twitch up.  “Very nice condition, though there is room for improvement.”  He returned to stand in front of Obi-Wan, locked his eyes onto the younger man’s, his expression intent. 

“These early times are important to both of us.  You must accept your role, you must come to understand the need for total and absolute obedience.  You will experience humiliation, discomfort, even pain.  You will also know pleasure the like of which you have never known.  Your first lesson – get down on the floor, lie on your stomach and spread your arms and legs.” 

After a  moment’s hesitation, Obi-Wan bit his lip and lay down as instructed. He saw Quinn move to stand next to him and a moment later felt a sudden pressure on the back of his neck.  He pushed against it instinctively and the pressure increased. 

“Stay still!  Do you know what I am doing now?” 

“You – you have your foot – on my neck!” 

“You forgot something,” the voice said, cold suddenly as the pressure increased a little more. 

Obi-Wan coughed out of a dry throat.  “S…sir.” 

“Yes, my boot is on your neck.  Were you a normal man I could damage your spine if I were inclined to serious violence.  With your Jedi abilities I’m sure you could defend yourself well, possible injure or kill me.  You will not do that.  You will never use the Force against me.  You will never fight me.  You will obey me because it is the nature of what we will build between us.  You will trust me enough to set aside your will.  I will trust you to honour that commitment.” 

Obi-Wan felt his muscles twitch with the need to respond – and then he let go and relaxed under the pressure of that foot, let Quinn hold him without fighting against him.  After a few moments the foot was moved and placed next to his head and a hand lifted his chin. 

“Good.  Your first step.  Do you like leather, boy?  Yes?  Then you will clean my boots.  With your mouth.” 

Obi-Wan squirmed up, felt his face flushing pink.  “Lick…are you mad?” 

Quinn shook his head, hunched down and took Obi-Wan’s throat in a tight grip, forced his face down to the shining leather of his boot.  “Start there and clean it from bottom to top.  Do not speak again until you are done.” 

Hot with anger, Obi-Wan squirmed against the hold until the other hand travelled down his back and stroked one up-thrust buttock.  He quivered under the slow touch and felt himself begin to tingle in arousal.  The fingers touched the warm space between his buttocks briefly, then withdrew.  “Nothing for nothing, young man.  Obey me!” 

Nose twitching in frustrating, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and began to lick the shining leather.  One hand still held his neck while the other stroked his back gently, as if he were a fractious beast being calmed.  By the time he had finished licking one boot his mouth was dry and filled with the taste of leather and he raised his face as he tried to work up some saliva.  Quinn stood. 

“Stay there, don’t move.”  He walked away and Obi-Wan heard the clink of glass on glass and then he was back.  A hand raised his head and he saw Quinn take a mouthful of wine.  The older man half-raised him, bent down and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s.  When Obi-Wan opened his mouth to the pressure of those lips he felt a warm flow of liquid and realised with a surprised twitch that Quinn was feeding the wine into his mouth. 

The hand held his head in place as Quinn took another mouthful, fed it to him and he swallowed out of necessity, his throat and mouth full of the taste of leather, wine and Quinn. 

“You may clean the other boot now,” Quinn said as he stood and let Obi-Wan’s head go, and Obi-Wan moved his head and licked the other boot, transferring the wine and saliva across the shining leather.  Somehow that odd, intimate feeding had lessened his embarrassment and when he was done Quinn had him sit back on his haunches and stood stroking his hair. 

“A promising start.  You may stand now.” 

As Obi-Wan stood, Quinn moved to a black wooden cupboard by the wall, opened a draw and drew out a number of items.  He turned back to Obi-Wan and held up a black leather collar. 

“Raise you chin.” 

He bit his lip and obeyed, skin tingling at the touch of the firm leather around his throat.  Quinn clipped it closed at the back and attached a long leather strip to the silver ring in the side, leaving it hang down across Obi-Wan’s chest. 

“Both hands up and hold them steady.”  He raised his arms, watched in fascination as Quinn slipped matching padded leather cuffs around each wrist.  He was then ordered to raise each leg and stand while similar cuffs were locked onto each ankle.  Quinn stroked his shoulder as he ran his finger under the collar to test its fit.  “The binders look primitive, but they have small electronic connectors that allow them to be linked together, or into other devices with similar connections.  Turn around.” 

Obi-Wan turned and Quinn pulled his arms back and pushed the binders together.  There was a soft click and his arms were linked behind his back.  He tugged experimentally but the bond seemed quite strong. 

Quinn stood in front of him and gently pushed his legs together.  Obi-Wan swayed as the ankle binders connected, automatically seeking the Force to correct his centre of balance.  

“I can see by that air of concentration that you’re doing something Jedi-ish.  Don’t.  Rely on your body and on me.  Trust me.” 

Obi-Wan let the Force slide away and felt himself begin to fall backwards as he lost his balance.  Quinn was suddenly behind him, catching him, holding him to his chest with arms wrapped around him.  “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  Warm lips moved against his ear and a tongue licked the curl of his lobe, slid inside and he suddenly wondered when his ear had become an erogenous zone…. 

And then those hands began to move over his skin in a possessive stroke, as if Quinn we becoming acquainted with his flesh.  Fingers pressed down on ribs, rested briefly on nipples, dipped lightly into his navel.  He could feel Quinn’s breath against his cheek, steady, hot, and he wondered what it would take to make the older man lose that experienced air of control.  .  


	4. Chapter 4

If Yarin was nervous about being alone with a total stranger in a situation taught with sexual energy, he didn’t show it.  He practically danced into Qui-Gon’s room, touching the furniture, peering into cupboards and opening drawers with avid curiosity. 

“Oh dear, nothing!  I was hoping for all kinds of interesting mementos of a Jedi’s life.”  He spun around and smiled.  “Not even any photographs of loved ones?  This room needs brightening up.” 

Qui-Gon took off his coat and hung it in the closet.  As he turned back he rolled up his long sleeves slowly, watching Yarin silently until the young man smiled and walked forward to stand in front of Qui-Gon, his hands tucked behind his back. 

“Am I being naughty, Master Jedi?  Perhaps you should punish me?” 

He’d wondered how to approach this situation, and decided, as he looked down into the elegant, teasing face, that logic and reason were totally out of place here.  The boy wanted a firm hand, did he?  Then a firm hand he would get. 

Before Yarin could even flinch, Qui-Gon took him by the shoulders, spun him around and ripped the shirt from his back. 

Yarin yelped.  “That was my best…” 

Qui-Gon turned him back, took the shirt and pushed it into Yarin’s open mouth.  He tied the strips behind his head, saw the eyes go wide with fear as those large hands pulled the rest of his clothing away in strips.  He tried to run, was caught and tied hand and foot with the rags of his clothing, taken and tossed onto the wide bed. 

The Jedi held him down with a firm Force push as he struggled to move and took off most of his own clothing, leaving only his trousers on.  “You felt it was safe to tease me in public and in private because I am a civilised man, a Jedi and you think you can push me and I will not bite.”  He bent over close to the wide-eyed boy and smiled.  “Perhaps you were wrong.”  

Qui-Gon could sense his fear, it burned between them like silent lightning and that fear alone would have stopped him – if the evidence of the young man’s equally intense arousal wasn’t also obvious.  Yarin’s healthy penis was strikingly erect and Qui-Gon considered it for a moment before taking a piece of torn silk fabric and tying it around the base of Yarin’s penis.  He tightened it until the young man squirmed and then tied it off in a bow. 

He leant forward, pushed some damp strands of hair from Yarin’s forehead with a gentle touch – then straightened, turned, and left the room with a word, leaving an extremely nervous young man lying alone on the bed. 

Qui-Gon was sitting in a chair by the window some ten minutes later drinking a cup of Cha when he heard a thump, some muffled groans and the sound of a body moving across the carpet.  He turned his head to watch as Yarin pushed himself in a snake-like ripple across the floor.  His face was wet with tears but Qui-Gon suspected they were more tears of frustration than anything else. 

When Yarin had reached the middle of the room he struggled to his knees and tried to talk against the gag.  The words sounded annoyed. 

Qui-Gon took another sip of tea and waited.  He saw movement, turned to look down as Yarin crawled to a stop next to him and leant, panting, against his legs.  The face that looked up at him was resigned and weary, pink and damp from his efforts. 

“If I take the gag off, your first words had best be an apology.” 

The fair head nodded and he undid the gag.  Yarin coughed and licked his lips, looked up at Qui-Gon with a sort of tired surprise. 

“My apologies.” 

“Master.” 

“My apologies, Master, I wasn’t ready, I didn’t…” 

“Ready?”  Qui-Gon put down his cup, leant forward and pulled Yarin forward between his open legs.  The young man could only twitch as Qui-Gon pulled him up, held him between strong thighs so that his chin rested on the Jedi Master’s chest.  “Are you ready now, Yarin?”  And he leant forward and kissed the soft mouth, his tongue demanding entrance, tasting the suddenly gasping mouth.  “Do you begin to understand me?” he whispered against the twitching mouth. 

His only response was a choked moan and he drew back to wonder how it was that he could draw such response from this beautiful young man.  That he could was obvious – the restrained penis was red and twitching with need.  That his own body was also responding only made this voyage of self-discovery even more intriguing.   

Yet still, even with that understanding, another face kept intruding, another body that he wished were lying against him instead of this undoubtedly attractive one.  He knew he might be able to gratify his physical needs, but it would only ever be a simulacrum, a copy of a dream that all the rules of his life said he could never experience. 

Ah Obi-Wan, he thought as he stroked the soft hair under his hand, if only things were different.  _If only you were here…._

 

* * *

Quinn wasn’t Force sensitive, but in the art of dominance he was a true Master and Obi-Wan found himself wrapped up in the game, lulled into acceptance by that warm, demanding voice, submersed by the unreality of his position.  He let himself feal fear, knowing that there and then it wouldn’t lead him to the Dark.  This fear led him to pleasure, to the thrill of accepting pain, of working through its layers, of tasting its sharp, coppery edge.  Here was no longer Jedi.  Here he was possession, willing victim of the pain that had already begun to turn to pleasure. 

Pain was no stranger to him.  As a child he’d fallen in games, as a pre-Padawan student he’d had his first lessons in taking the fall, absorbing the pain as part of his learning process.  As Padawan he been thrown, bruised, cut and struck, burnt and beaten many times.  It had been part of his work, like the calluses on his hands, like the braid in his hair.  This was different.  This pain he chose, accepted, and tasted like wine.  This was an intimate anguish. 

When he had begun to anticipate the blows, Quinn had blindfolded him.  When he’d made the mistake of drawing on the Force to absorb the discomfort, Quinn had put a Force binder above his collar and he’d found himself submerged in darkness even deeper than normal blindness.  

He’d been afraid before, he was only human but his training had taught him to submerge it, ignore it.  There had been too much of that, too much of his life had been submerged and ignored under the regimen of duty.  This fear he savoured, this helplessness he not only endured but also enjoyed. 

He allowed himself to slip further into fantasy, the fantasy he’d really gone to the House of the Rose to live.  In that blessed darkness Quinn became Qui-Gon.  It was his Master’s hands holding him, steadying him for the blow.  

He stood, arms wrapped around a pillar, his face pressed to the cool stone, listening for the movement of air and he flinched as the cane struck him, felt the hot sizzle spread through his skin, through his centre like hot electricity jolting him.  The cane struck the same area repeatedly, the sensitive skin at the top of the thighs were they joined his ass, first one leg and then the other as his Master worked his way up the thighs to the very bottom of his ass. 

It was exquisitely painful and he gripped the chains that held him to the pillar, bit his lips to control his cries, and sighed at the hand that stroked his back and the voice that whispered to him. 

“I want to hear you, Padawan.  Share your pleasure with me.” 

So he let himself go even more, let his head drop back and released the choked moans that were soon swallowed by the hot mouth on his, drinking in his breath, tasting his pain.  He was hot, so hot, flushed and unbelievably aroused, dripping with moisture… sweat and other things that flowed from him with each rapid thud of his heart. 

He almost screamed as that mouth moved down to lick the swollen flesh of his thighs, slid up over skin that pulsed, worked its way into the bruised channel between his buttocks.  

Nothing, nothing had ever felt that good.  

Nothing, that is, until he was pulled backwards against an aroused body and knew, for the first time, how it felt to have another man’s hands take his vulnerable penis and stroke it from base to tip.  

So many feelings, hard to know which was paramount:  pleasure, embarrassment, fear, pleasure. . yes, pleasure, impossible not to moan, impossible not to arch forward, to rub that hand, seeking more contact.  Then the hand stilled, moved back and he groaned, twisted his head blindly. 

“Say your name to me,” the voice whispered, torturing him with its impossible demands. 

He shook his head, felt a feather touch on the sensitive skin beneath his cock, teasingly brief.  

“Tell me.”  Another touch, this time of tongue to the sore, warm entry to his body.  “Your name.” 

“Obi-Wan!”  It came out in spite of any logic for restraint, the ultimate intimacy.  He was rewarded by the return of the hand that skilfully, firmly took him up to the point of gasping climax, held him there for an eternity, and then released him. 

“My Obi-Wan,” the voice whispered, holding him while he shuddered, releasing himself finally into the control of this talented, tempting stranger. 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon trailed the half a dozen soft leather lashes of the small whip through his fingers as he watched Yarin complete his tenth lap of the exercise track. He was getting tired, the Jedi Master could see that as much as sense it.  He’d stumbled twice, tried to stop or slow and Qui-Gon had flicked him across the legs with a ribbon of Force power, urged him up and onwards, pushing him towards exhaustion.  

He doubted if the young man had ever run more than a few feet in his entire life.  He was soft – attractive, appealingly so - but extremely unfit.  Wearing only a very short pair of exercise leggings, his skin was mostly visible, gleaming with perspiration from his damp, hair-plastered forehead down to his bare feet.  

When  they had arrived at the exercise rooms he’d thrown himself into the exercise with a burst of enthusiasm, using the run to exhibit his natural physical attributes.  It hadn’t taken long for that first enthusiasm to wear off;  like a child he had thrown himself into the game but he soon tired of it and wanted out.  Qui-Gon suspected he’d been spoiled by the Dominants at the Club because of his charm and basically sweet nature.  Qui-Gon had no intention of joining them.  While he was inexperienced in the ways of a House Dominant, he knew something of manipulation and it was time to practise. 

The Jedi Master straightened from where he’d been leaning against a vaulting bar, turned to look at himself in the mirrored wall and smiled at his own small conceit as he straightened the short tunic. _What would Obi-Wan think if he could see me now…?_

 As a Jedi Master, dedicated to the light, he might never wear black.  Might never wonder about the Dark Side, never allow himself to dwell on what lay there beyond the boundaries of control.  This, then, was the ultimate fantasy.  To dress all in black – tunic, sash and belt, leggings, belt and cloak – unrelieved, disarmingly black. 

This was his indulgence, his part of the game.  To be here at all mauled, if not  broke, many rules.  He’d had some difficulty penetrating a lifetime of habit and the clothing helped him shed those restraints.  Fantasy upon dream, the most important one being of another young man, his greatest need, held in his dark grasp .. 

Yarin stumbled to a halt next to him, gasping and wet and bent to rub a stubbed toe.  “Please. – may I stop –“ 

Everything went dark suddenly and Yarin yelped in surprise.  Qui-Gon had hit the light controls with a flicker of the Force, locked the door at the same time.  He had memorised the position of every item in the room and the young man was a flicker of living energy within the Force, easily tracked.  
   
The dark was strangely sensual, he could manipulate it, use it, exist within it with a freedom hitherto unrecognised.  While Yarin stumbled,  blind and frightened, he glided, senses alive, feeling younger than he had  in decades.  Gravity itself was deniable; he simply willed himself into the air so that he made no sound, floated as a black-garbed figure through the dark.  
   
 "Can you find me?"  He laid a hand briefly on Yarin's head, withdrew it,  moved back and to the side as the young man swung around, tripping.   
 He was frightened, Qui-Gon could sense that, frightened of the dark and when he spoke his voice was high and unsteady.  
   
 "Please - don't do this.  I don't like it --"  
   
 Fear rang through the Force, sparking against Qui-Gon's senses, inflaming  
 him.  He tasted it, sweet and dark, a forbidden flavour.  He moved across the floor and was hit by a sudden inspiration:   as he himself floated, he also reached out to pull Yarin from the floor, twisting him up and sideways, cart wheeling him till he lost all sense of direction. 

The young man cried out.  “No! Please…I’ll be sick…!” 

Qui-Gon stopped the spinning but left him hanging in mid-air, upside down.  He slid forward and laid one hand on the wildly thrashing legs, felt the young man’s body tingling with exquisite fear – and equally exquisite arousal.  

He raised the flail and ran the soft leather strips across Yarin’s face.  “You are weak.  Pampered and soft.  You think you may treat me as to treat these others.  Nothing could be more wrong.”  With that, he pulled the flail back and slashed it across Yarin’s stomach. 

He worked his way around the squirming body, striking a new area with each blow until he had touched him everywhere but on the genitals and face.   Yarin lost all trace of dignity, moaned and twitched and if it hadn’t been for Qui-Gon’s Force sensitivity he might have thought the young man in terrible pain.  In fact, it was quite the opposite. 

The other fact that gave him momentary pause was the knowledge that he was also aroused by the sound of the young man almost wailing with pleasure under his violent, sensitising strikes. 

He was hot, the hair around his neck damp from his exertions, his own skin tingling. The cries had sunk to drawn-out moans and Qui-Gon was flushed with heat, carried forward by their joined pleasure.  He finally dropped the flail and reached out and drew the shivering body to him, surprised yet again at how fear and arousal seemed so much a part of Yarin’s experience.  He was held in a desperate grip, pushed against with an almost animalistic need by grinding hips and flailing hands

He tried to speak but Qui-Gon stopped him by the simple measure of flipping him over and kissing him.  Yarin wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon, his hands burrowing inside clothing, searching for the warm skin.  He pulled his head back, reached up to stroke the unseen face then slid down and burrowed his head inside Qui-Gon's tunic, pressed his face to the hardening bulge between the Jedi Master's legs. 

He hissed with pleasure.  “Yesss…”  As he settled to the floor he spread his legs, balanced himself and held Yarin’s head to his groin, rubbed himself against the hungry, damp face.  He felt hands seeking entry to his clothing, the soft hands that had never known work and yet made him as much captive in that moment as Yarin was,  When those shaking fingers released his rigid flesh,  took him into a the damp confining heat of the panting mouth, it was a transcendence. 

As the young man took him to a consuming climax he mirrored the giving, lifting him, stroking Yarin with a hard and controlling grip, driving him over the edge of pain into pleasure. 

They sat together finally, comfortable in the dark and Qui-Gon felt that soft, damp hand stroke his arm as Yarin rested against him.  “The thing with the lights out was very clever, quite took me by surprise.  If you don’t mind me saying so,” the young man said in a slurred, satisfied voice, “you aren’t the best Dominant I’ve ever been with – but you’re definitely climbing up the list.” 

Qui-Gon smiled unseen.  “Thank you. . .I think.”  It was certainly the oddest compliment he’d received in quite some time. 

 

It hadn’t been totally unexpected, that call, but Qui-Gon felt mildly annoyed anyhow.  He’d been told that his rest time was assured but, of course, few things in life were assured.  One of them was certainly that during one of the few times in his life when he was starting to enjoy himself, he’d be called back to duty.  The Force, it seemed, had a sad sense of timing. 

A call had come through from Calamari, site of an important meeting involving religious tolerance within the Republic.  The Jedi representatives at the meeting had made some fundamental errors in their handling of the sensitive Mon Calamari delegates.  Qui-Gon had been to Calamari in the past and established good rapport with the waterworld’s citizens and Yoda, while apologetic for the disruption, had been insistent.  Qui-Gon’s negotiation skills were needed.  With apologies to an unhappy Yarin, Qui-Gon had returned to his rooms, changed into his street clothes and left for the Temple.


	5. Chapter 5

Obi-Wan received the call an hour later, and Quinn hadn’t been impressed.  They’d been lounging in one of the large spa baths and the Dominant had been teaching Obi-Wan a little more of the pleasure of submission when the polite employee had entered the room, one hand placed over his eyes to avoid seeing anything he wasn’t supposed to.  The other hand was held out in front of him carrying a phonelink. 

“My apologies, sirs, but there is an urgent call from Mr Kenson’s paging service.  Our file instructions are to pass through all such calls at once.” 

Quinn had eyed the employee with distaste.  “Your timing is execrable, Tige.” 

“Yes, Mr Quinn, so I’ve been told.  Could Mr Kenson take this please, the humidity in here is making me itchy.,” 

Obi-Wan was sitting with his back against Quinn’s chest, the Dominant’s legs wrapped around him as they lay submerged in gently bubbling warm water.  With a sigh, Obi-Wan squirmed around and faced Quinn. 

“I’m sorry, but real life seems to be intruding.  I promise to return as soon as I am able.” 

Quinn slid one finger under the soaked collar and pulled him up, kissed him fiercely.  “I’ll hold you to that . . .among other things. . .”  A strong wet hand stroked down to his groin, caressed him under the water.  Quinn slapped the ass as it emerged and leant back to rest in the water. 

Obi-Wan went straight to his quarters in the temple, hurriedly undressed, threw the civilian clothing into the closet and pulled on his tunic, leggings and boots before heading for the door. 

In his haste to dress, he completely forgot the gold and silver ring on the third finger of his left hand . . .

 

 

Qui-Gon was reading up on the reports coming in on the Camalari situation when Obi-Wan arrived.  He handed one of the datapads across and indicated an empty chair without looking up. 

“It seems we are both to have our vacation disturbed.  I trust you have enjoying yours?” 

Obi-Wan settled himself into one of the broad, flat seats that Yoda favoured and sighed as he switched on the pad.  “Very much.  I suppose it is only to be expected,” he said, looking across at his Master with a small smile.  “Ten thousand Jedi but we seem to be more in demand than most.  Perhaps we have become too good at this.” 

“Perhaps so.”  Qui-Gon looked up as the door opened and Yoda entered, carrying another datapad.  “Any further new, my Master?” 

“Better news, its seems,” Yoda said, as he laid the pad on the small desk beside his own comfortable chair. “Hamar a solution has found.  Begged forgiveness he did for his misunderstanding.” 

 Qui-Gon repressed a smile at Yoda’s tart tone.  Hamar was not one of his favourites. “Master Hamer is a little . . . abrupt.” 

Yoda grunted, pulled himself into his chair. “My apologies you both have for my recall, too hasty I may have been.” 

“No matter.  We can go over the reports now that we are here and see if there is any advice we can send Hamar, the Calamari are not. . .” 

Obi-Wan had reached out to hand him the datapad and Qui-Gon stopped in mid-sentence as he saw the flash of silver and gold on his Padawan’s left hand.  Saw the intertwined rose vine.  Exactly like the one had left in his own quarters. 

His mind froze for a moment as he tried to reason it out.  _A similar design Yet Obi-Wan wears no jewellery_.  His own ring that his Padawan was wearing - _And he stole it from you!  I think not!_

He was aware, then, that Yoda and Obi-Wan were watching him, sensed the first tickle of their surprise at his disjointed speech.  He coughed to cover the moment and took the pad with a nod. 

“…They are not an unreasonable people.  A little sensitive on religious matters but otherwise very level-headed.  I am sure a solution will be easily found.” 

He carried on a further conversation with part of his mind as the rest of it tried to work out a reason for that ring’s presence on Obi-Wan’s finger.  In fact, there was only one reason. 

His Padawan was a member of the House of the Rose.  

As they returned to their quarters he walked as normal, spoke as normal, outwardly serene.  Inwardly, he was adrift, shielding his confusion, betraying none of the emotions that clustered behind his façade.  The game had just become extremely complicated. 

He wasn’t accustomed to indecision – but then again, this was a very untypical situation.  There was no clear-cut path to take.  It wasn’t a matter of right or wrong,  It was a matter of potential disaster. 

_Perhaps I’m over-dramatising it._

Obi-Wan a member of the House of the Black Rose, presumably having sex with a stranger.  -  then again, perhaps overdramatising wasn’t possible. 

He was walking back and forth before the window in his quarters, hands behind his back, head down, seeking solutions.  What would Yoda do….? 

He laughed, brief and sharp, wiped his eyes and sat down in a chair by the window.  Yoda wouldn’t have gone to the House in the first place, wouldn’t have given in to some irrational impulse in self-indulgence.  Well, the answer was obvious.  He would resign his membership and never return.  That would solve the immediate concern of encountering Obi-Wan there. 

It would not, however, remove the memories.  He would picture Yarin and Obi-Wan’s face would overwrite the image. . .the picture of Obi-Wan on his knees, bound and shivering at his feet, begging for a caress….or perhaps Obi-Wan was a Dominant, playing those strange, erotic games with another young man, using the whips and the bonds. . . 

Either image was tantalising.  No matter how he tried to banish them, they kept popping up, sensual flotsam in the turbulence of his thoughts.  How could they go on, Master and Padawan, when he would always wonder if Obi-Wan was there, at the House of the Rose, being pleasured by the touch of a Dominant? 

And suddenly, the thought of another Dominant touching his Obi-Wan made him flush with unexpected propriety. 

“My Obi-Wan!”   The words hissed out in spite of the logical part of his mind that was saying,  he is your Padawan!  Another part of him, some basic surprisingly primal part, said – Yes!  Mine -  he is MY Padawan! 

That was unexpected.  He tasted the idea, acknowledged that it existed, and filed it away for later thought.  First of all he had to decide what to do then, at that moment. 

He realised at last that he had to know, had to be certain that this wasn’t all some stupid mistake.  He went to the communicator and hit the number for Obi-Wan’s rooms, only to receive a message saying he had gone out for the night and would not be back till tomorrow. 

Gone out.  Gone to the House. 

_Why is he doing this?  Why am I doing this?_ Because both of them were seeking something.  He refused to believe that Obi-Wan would find it difficult to have a lover if he chose.  No-one as appealing and attractive as his Padawan would be often rejected.  Therefore he, also, was seeking something that a normal sex life did not provide. 

_Perhaps he is seeking you, as you are him_.  He shook his head, pushed the hair from his face and looked, unfocused, out at the Corcuscant night sky.  _That would be too much to ask.  How could his old Master be what he wants, when he might have anyone he wished?   Yet whatever it is I still find the idea of him being there, in that way, unsettling._

He was giving into a temptation that he knew might well be self-destructive, but inaction promised its own sort of torture.  At least if he went there, he would know for certain. 

Decision made, Qui-Gon changed his clothing, collected his ring, and left the Temple for the House of the Rose. 

He found Yarin in the dining room eating an enormous plate of something soft and chocolate-coloured, topped by pieces of fruit.  The young man looked up as Qui-Gon approached, his mouth ringed with chocolate. 

“Oh, you’re back sooner than I thought.  I’m sorry, I was hungry!” 

“I can see.”  Qui-Gon sat opposite him, rested his chin on his raised hands and watched Yarin thoughtfully.  “Could you find out something about a member of the club?" 

Yarin spooned up another mouthful of sweet and nodded slowly.  “Yesss, I suppose so. What in particular?” 

“I need to know who someone is partnered with and where he is.” 

“Submissive or Dominant?” 

“I don’t know.  He’s probably a Submissive.” 

“Ahh.”  Yarin watched him, eyes narrowed.  “What is the name of this . . . competitor?” 

Qui-Gon reached over and wiped a smear of sauce from Yarin’s chin.  “No names.  But he’s almost certainly a recent member, if that helps.  He is eighteen, has short reddish gold hair except for a long single braid.” 

“Attractive?”  Yarin ate more slowly, eyes intent. 

“Very.”  Qui-Gon smiled slightly. “Almost as attractive as you.” 

The lips widened into a smile.  “You say the nicest things.  Well, I will ask around.  He is likely to be here today?” 

Qui-Gon nodded, dipped his finger into the sweet and tasted it. “Hmm.  Yes, he is.  Try to be subtle, Yarin.  This is a delicate matter.” 

“I am the soul of discretion.  You may leave it safely to me.” 

Qui-Gon went to his assigned rooms and made himself a pot of Cha to relax his nerves.  Half an hour later Yarin entered, bouncing with energy.  “I’m so good!  I found your friend.  Yes, he’s a Submissive, currently under Mr. Quinn.”  Yarin shrugged as he plopped into an armchair.  “Interesting choice, if I may say so.  Your friend must like being with big-headed egocentrics.”  He smiled abruptly, blinked.  “Present company excluded of course.” 

Qui-Gon poured himself another Cha and stirred it with a spoon, watched Yarin’s expressive features.  “Of course.  You don’t like this Quinn?” 

“He’s impossible, thinks that he only has to snap his fingers and every Sub in the place will come running.  Tall, dark and masterful is our Mr Quinn.” 

A small twinge of jealousy flared in Qui-Gon’s mind, along with a twinge of the heart.  “Attractive?” 

“Oh yes, very.”  Yarin stopped, looked across at Qui-Gon intently.  “This Mr Kenson – you want him, don’t you?  Is he a lover or something?” 

“Or something.  Don’t pry, Yarin.” 

“I’ll help you.” 

One eyebrow rose.  “Help me do what?”  Qui-Gon asked, thought he suspected the answer. 

“I’ll help you get him.  I can draw Quinn off.  Let you get to Mr Kenson.” Yarin grinned wickedly. “Quinn will be really annoyed.” 

“I’m sure it breaks just about every rule of the House.” 

“Only if anyone complains.  I know Quinn has wanted me for some time,” Yarin said, eyes unfocused as he considered the matter, “it wouldn’t be too hard to draw him away, a small challenge.”  He grinned, suddenly young. “I can be very appealing.” 

Qui-Gon couldn’t help smiling at the young man’s verve.  “I am aware of that.  I don’t need a lot of time,  just enough to talk to him.” 

“Of course you do.  But you need privacy for that, don’t you?  I’ve even found the code for Quinn’s door – no, don’t ask me how, it’s who you know around here, and who is open for a small bribe.  Do you want my help or not?” 

Qui-Gon considered and rejected a number of alternate plans before nodding, a touch unwillingly.  “Very well.  It’s either that or leave him a message and go, which I would rather not do.  What are you plans?” 

Yarin licked one finger thoughtfully and began to plan.  Quinn was, it seemed, a punctual and ordered person who checked on his personal mail every evening at the same time.  Yarin knew his route and informed Qui-Gon with a flourish of his spoon that he would intercept the Dominant and “keep him occupied” for a short while. 

“And don’t ask me how,” he said with another irrepressible grin.


	6. Chapter 6

Quinn was on his way to the Members’ office facilities when he caught sight of a figure sitting hunched over on a bench in a corner of an empty corridor.  He frowned but kept walking until he heard a muffled sound and turned to see Yarin’s damp face looking up at him.  He stopped abruptly at sight of a large bruise over one eye and the sight of blood on fingers where they held onto an arm. 

He swore and stopped.  “Yarin, what in all the gods of Bayliss.. . .”  

Yarin drew back and turned away.  “Please. . .please leave me alone.  I don’t feel like another of your lectures.” 

Quinn sighed and sat down on the bench.  Yarin was an ongoing drag at his sensibilities – he’d sworn not to allow himself to be sucked in like every other Dominant in the House by those appealing eyes and that fabulous – yes undeniably fabulous– body.  Yet he could no more pass the young Submissive up at that moment than he could have kicked a small pup. 

“Don’t tell me,” he said, peeling the bloodied hand away from the arm, “too much cheek at the wrong time.”  He tried look at the wound but Yarin hissed and he pushed one golden lock of hair away from the wide gray eyes.  “Your mouth will be the death of you one day.  Such a nice mouth, too,” he finished, putting one finger onto the soft lips. 

Yarin blinked, looking absurdly young.  “Can we do away with the public chastisement?  Would you mind taking me back to my room?  I’d like to clean up.” 

“Certainly.”  As they walked the short distance to Yarin’s room, Quinn tried to get more information.  “Do I know this monster?” 

“No.  Look, I don’t want to get him into trouble,” he said as he keyed open the door and stepped inside. “As you say, it was probably my fault. “  He went to pull off his shirt, hissed at his cut arm and Quinn took hold of it. 

“Let me look.  Oh, its not too bad, a shallow slice but they always bleed enthusiastically.”  He went to the bathroom, collected two towels and rinsed one in clean water.  Yarin was pulling his shirt off when he returned, sitting in a dejected huddle on the edge of the bed.  Quinn sat beside him, took his arm and began cleaning the wound.  “See, better already, you’re a quick healer.” 

“It must be your extraordinary touch then, Mr Quinn,” Yarin said quietly, looking down at his arm as Quinn wiped the last of the blood away.  As he looked up Quinn touched the bruise under his eye. 

“You didn’t duck fast enough.” 

“No.”  He tried to smile, failed and then he sighed, a faintly miserable sound that had a stronger effect on Quinn than tears would have.  “I suppose I deserved it,” he said very softly. 

He was not normally a creature of impulse but somehow Quinn found himself holding Yarin, kissing the damp skin around his eyes, tasting the clean salty warmth of his ears and throat.  “You deserve only the best,” he whispered into the damp ear, “and here I am.” 

Yarin choked out a laugh.  “Oh, you egotistical, self-centred, opinionated….!” 

His words were cut off by a mouth on his.  He was ruthlessly kissed and closed his eyes in pleasure as Quinn held him in a strong ring of arm and leg.  “And you,” Quinn muttered against his mouth, “are a hedonistic, spoiled sensualist who would test the patience of the strongest will.  Luckily, that’s me and I enjoy being tested. . .” 

Quinn pulled Yarin up onto the bed, slid beside him.  “Will you let me take you…will you let me kiss and touch…” he said, kissing the damp chest, “this foolish, spoiled,” he continued down the stomach, pushing the loose clothing away, making Yarin twitch, “….impulsive, lovely body….” And then his mouth was moving over Yarin’s thighs and the young man moaned and rose against him. 

Quinn felt Yarin shiver as soft, insistent hands pulled at his clothing.  His breath stirred the hair around Yarin’s genitals and he nudged the flaring penis with his tongue. 

Yarin moaned in total pleasure but still managed to speak.  “Don’t you…have…someone…? 

“He’ll wait…”  Quinn answered before swallowing the sweet, hot flesh deep into his throat. 

Yarin forgot whatever it was he’d been planning to say and lost all interest in Qui-Gon’s fate …..

 

 

On the other side of the accommodation wing, Qui-Gon stood outside Quinn’s room and stared at the door, his hands clenched into fists.  It was time to make a decision.  He reached out punched in the entry code. 

He had intended to be rational, to simply talk – but the sight of those familiar hands, bound with leather, bearing the gold mark of another man on his finger, dissolved all sensible purpose. 

The picture his Padawan presented was the fulfilment of fantasy.  Naked, he lay on his side with his arms and legs linked to leather bracelets, a soft collar around his throat topped by a Force dampening band.  His eyes were covered by a black sash, his skin gleamed gold under the dim light. 

A lifetime of training and obligation to decent behaviour was saying, don’t take this any further, turn and walk away, leave him to his own fantasies.  This was the ultimate invasion of privacy.  This was wrong. 

Then Obi-Wan shifted on the bed, turned the blinded head towards him, almost certainly having heard the door open and he watched the hands twitch, watched the growing arousal and the need to touch was so overwhelming he thought he might die of it. 

“Master?” 

Qui-Gon jerked, a hot flush rushing through his middle, until he remembered.  Remembered that Submissives called Dominants that, just as Padawans did.  Obi-Wan didn’t know he was there, thought it was Quinn.  And Quinn would touch him, take him, give him pleasure and that – wasn’t – right – 

In spite of what he knew was wrong he slid quietly forward, bent and stroked the long, strong leg, up over the hip and around the warm swell of Obi-Wan’s ass.  Qui-Gon closed his eyes, felt the flush of arousal coming from Obi-Wan like a warm wind.  His skin prickled with reaction, his own manhood, that had already begun to stir at the sight of Obi-Wan’s state, flushed up to near full arousal.  It was a little shocking how a simple touch, received and reflected, could set him aflame.  Just that touch was inflammatory – what would it be like to – 

Just a few more touches, then, to warm his memory.  He rolled Obi-Wan over on to his back and allowed himself the pleasure of exploring the body that had been the cause of far too many late night arousals, that he had imagined when he’d brought himself any number of lonely orgasms.  This was no dream, this hot satin that twitched and squirmed under his hand was wonderfully real. 

/ /Was I here for a reason?  To talk, to find answers?  What words could be said that this doesn’t answer//  His hands moved up over the thighs, circled Obi-Wan’s groin until the young man was thrusting up helplessly towards him and then his hands, of their own volition, were clasping the engorged penis, settling into the rhythm of a heartbeat that matched his own increasing arousal.  

He slid down on the bed next to Obi-Wan, one hand still working the aroused flesh  while the other stroked over arms and chest, shoulders and neck, wishing his he could kiss but wondering if the touch of his beard on that sensitive skin would reveal too much.  He could still leave, still pull back and go – 

Until Obi-Wan pushed against him, the wonderful voice throaty with need.  “Master, please. .. .” 

Impulse took over from reason.  He bent forward and put his mouth against the open lips, push them them further apart for his tongue to enter, to taste.  He  pulled the wrist binders apart, felt himself grabbed by anxious hands and held tight. 

We are both blinded, he thought in a kind of overwhelmed desperation, blinded by this thing we’ve started, an independent madness.  Hands pulling at his clothing, anxious hands touching him -  Obi-Wan must know that he wasn’t Quinn – yet he said nothing beyond the small, hungry sounds that were driving Qui-Gon mad.  He pulled off his clothing and tossed it aside as Obi-Wan slid over onto his side and pushed backwards, reached back to take his hips and then pushed again and Qui-Gon gasped at the feel of his tender cock rubbing against Obi-Wan’s ass. 

This was too much to ask of anyone.  He held on to the body pushed against him with mouth and hands and legs, sought out the entry to Obi-Wan’s body with a sort of instinctive accuracy and mounted him with one thrust. 

He was slick and firm, an enfolding heat that wrapped Qui-Gon and drew him in, pushed back, accepted him, clutched at him with demanding hands, made him forget who or what he was.  All he knew was that this was his, that he was where he need to be.  He held onto Obi-Wan with bruising strength, rolled him over and pulled him up to his knees without breaking away, pushed in harder, sensing the pleasure that over-rode any possible pain.  

He was perspiring, rivulets running down his shoulders to drip onto the wet skin beneath him and bent to taste it, his own sweat and Obi-Wan’s mingled on the hot skin.  His cock searched inside Obi-Wan’s body, moving deeper with each thrust, opening him with demanding pressure and he knew some of the moans were sounds of pain, that Obi-Wan had never been penetrated in this way before.  Yet oddly he didn’t pull away, his body rang with pleasure and anguish both, mingling them in a rush of experience.  

He wished for more hands so that he could touch more.  Obi-Wan buckled beneath him, his arms giving out and he slumped down onto his elbows, held up only by  Qui-Gon’s hands at his hips.  Qui-Gon watched him grab the bedding into fists, muscles twitching as he moved backwards into each pounding thrust until Qui-Gon’s cock was fully inside him.  He lowered himself slightly, adjusted his angle and pushed upwards and was rewarded by Obi-Wan’s moans turning to gasps of pleasure as the hard tip of his cock thumped against the prostate. 

Qui-Gon reached under Obi-Wan’s bucking hips and took the engorged cock and in a tight, squeezing grip.  With the hard strokes against his prostate and the equally hard hand on his cock Obi-Wan’s orgasm ripped through and he convulsed, driving himself back as his body flailed under the overload. 

“Oh yes…..Master….Qui-Gon…” 

Qui-Gon slid his hand under the Force binder and pulled it off, tore off the blindfold even as he turned Obi-Wan onto his back and pulled his legs up, entered him again as familiar eyes dazed with unfamiliar passion blinked up at him.  He pushed forward and down, gathered his Padawan into his arms, moved slowly in deep, pleasured strokes, watched the shocked surprise flow across the young man’s face. 

Yet he didn’t pull away.  After that initial flush of shock he grinned, grabbed Qui-Gon’s arms and held on.  “I thought,” he said in a broken whisper punctuated by Qui-Gon’s movements, “that you – were my – imagination.  My – fantasy –“ 

“Just as you are mine,” Qui-Gon responded, his voice a dry croak.  “As you will always be.  My Obi-Wan. . .”  He bent his head, took Obi-Wan’s left hand and put it into his mouth, pulled off the ring with his teeth and spat it out onto the floor.  “No-one else’s….”  

The hand moved up to touch his face, shaking fingers running into his hair as he made two final deep thrusts then stilled, eyes locked onto Obi-Wan’s as the climax shot through him and he bit his lip to stop himself from shrieking with the pleasure of it. 

They lay locked together for some time, until Obi-Wan stirred and looked towards the door.  “Quinn is due back…” And he looked up at Qui-Gon with an embarrassed flush. 

“He may be a while.”  Qui-Gon rolled over, tucked Obi-Wan against his side. “A young man named Yarin likely has his current undivided attention.” 

Obi-Wan turned onto towards him and picked up his hand that had a small gold ring on its third finger.  “You’re still wearing you ring? “ 

“Yes.  I didn’t seem able to give it to Yarin.  It didn’t seem to belong to him.” 

Obi-Wan slid his arms over the broad chest and one leg over Qui-Gon’s thighs.  “Good, it didn’t.”  He stroked Qui-Gon’s side with his face, slowly, as his fingers twirled Qui-Gon’s ring.  “And how did you come to be here?  An equally odd coincidence.  Is it a coincidence?”

“Entirely so.  The Force moves in mysterious ways,” Qui-Gon said, expression even, and Obi-Wan laughed. 

“You’re blaming the Force for this!  I didn’t know it involved itself in a Jedi’s sex life!” 

“It will have to do until a better explanation comes along.  Who knows,” he said, as he stroked the damp hair, “perhaps we were each picking up the other’s feelings unwittingly and the idea leaked through into our mutual subconscious.  Perhaps we are tied much more closely than I realised.” 

“I like that idea, being tied to you.”  With the effervescent energy of youth, Obi-Wan slid on top of Qui-Gon, supporting his weight but having as much of their mutual skin touching as possible.  “I’m sure there is a lot we can do here, if we decide to stay.  Quinn showed me a lot. . .” 

Qui-Gon took Obi-Wan’s head in both hands, brought it down into a long, succulent kiss.  “Did he indeed!  While I may not have his experience as a House Dominant, I believe I can show you a great deal more. . .”


	7. Chapter 7

Breakfast turned out to be an interesting meal.  Qui-Gon wasn’t comfortable staying any longer than necessary in Quinn’s rooms and he took Obi-Wan back to his own.  After a shower and change it was time for breakfast and they ventured downstairs to the restaurant. 

It was still fairly early and there were only half a dozen other diners present when they entered.  Breakfast foods were set out on a long table in the centre of the room and they collected plates of fruit, bread and pastries and took them to a table near the window.  

“So tell me about this Yarin”, Obi-Wan said as he selected his favorite fruit pieces from a joint bowel.  “Can I assume that he has been your Submissive?” 

Qui-Gon smiled very slightly at the tone.  Deliberately light, the voice of a young man trying very hard to be civilised.  “You are correct.  I believe you would like him, he’s…” 

“Attractive?  Blond, slim, not very tall?”  Obi-Wan asked. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Qui-Gon said and Obi-Wan nodded towards the door. 

“Then he’s coming this way, with my soon-to-be-ex Dominant, Quinn.” 

Qui-Gon looked up as the two men crossed the room.  Yarin caught sight of him, stopped, then turned in their direction and Quinn followed a moment later.  He couldn’t recall every finding himself in such a situation – his lover and Padawan opposite him, an ex-lover standing in front of him, his lover’s ex-lover…no, it defied description.  He nodded at Quinn, responded to Yarin’s bright greeting with a placid “Good morning”. 

“Good morning.  I just wanted to wish you well .” 

Qui-Gon nodded, smiled slightly.  “Thank you.”  He reached into his pocket, pulled out the gold ring much like his own and handed it across to Quinn.  

“This is yours, I believe, Mr Quinn.  My friend doesn’t need it any longer.”  He locked eyes with Quinn and the other man nodded slowly. 

“Understood.  He’s a fine young man.  I wish you both well.”  He smiled at Obi-Wan, dipped his head to Qui-Gon and took a cheerful Yarin with him to their table. 

Qui-Gon sensed Obi-Wan’s intent stare and was stirred to a mildly wicked impulse   “That is quite an. . .interesting…gentleman,” he said easily as he poured himself a cup of Cha.  “Is he good?” 

Obi-Wan gasped and breathed back a piece of fruit, coughed, nearly choking.  Eyes watering, he blinked.  “Umm…good?” 

“Yes, that was the word.  Is he good?  Did he provide adequate service?” 

“Service?”  Obi-Wan blinked again, his mouth opening and closing.  “Ah, well, I . . I suppose so.”  He poured himself a glass of juice and swallowed a mouthful or two to clear his throat, obviously trying to cope with the notion of his Master discussing another man’s sexual abilities.  “He seems to be very experienced.  At this sort of thing.  Yes, I suppose he was.”  He swallowed and Qui-Gon saw the hunger flare in the bright eyes .  “But he only introduced me to things I want to know more of with you.” 

As Obi-Wan reached out for a piece of bread Qui-Gon caught his hand, spread the fingers, looking all the while into Obi-Wan’s eyes. Dipping his other hand into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a silver ring.  “This,” he said softly, “is yours.”  He pushed it onto Obi-Wan’s third finger.  Releasing the hand, he pulled his own gold ring off and held it out.  “This is mine.  Do you think they should be together?” 

Obi-Wan turned his hand over and held it straight, palm up, nodded slowly, wordlessly.  Qui-Gon let the ring fall onto his palm;  he took it and slid it over his finger, brought the hand up to study it.  “They go together very well.  Are we allowed to do the same?” 

“That is a most pertinant question.”  In fact, it was the question that had plagued him since the moment he’d taken Obi-Wan into his arms.  “All the rules say no.  A Master may not form a liaison with a Padawan, their own or another Master’s.  No if’s, but’s or perhaps.  If the Council finds out I will be ejected from the Order and you will be re-educated and reassigned.  Not a happy end to our time together.  We must both consider this very carefully.” 

“Yes, I suppose we must.  But Master, can we think about it when our break is finished?  Can we think about other things till then?”  

It was hard to resist that voice, that had always given him pleasure in even the simplest conversations.  “Other things?”  Qui-Gon asked mildly and smiled as Obi-Wan selected a ripe berry and put it into his mouth, chewed it slowly and licked his lips. 

“Yes, Master, other things.”  He watched Obi-Wan pick out another berry, lick it then bend forward and put it to Qui-Gon’s lips.  “These are really very nice berrries.” 

Qui-Gon opened his mouth, took the berry and moved forward to take the two fingers into his mouth. He swirle his tongue around them, watched his Padawan’s cheeks flush pink and his lips part is a silent sigh. Giving the fingers a final moist suck, he pulled back, licked his lips.  “Yes, very nice.  Sweet and tart at the same time.” 

He enjoyed disconcerting his Obi-Wan, loved to watch the fresh skin flush with excitement, the eyes widen, that luscious mouth drop open in a small gasp.  “Have you finished eating?  I’m feeling quite refreshed.” 

Obi-Wan sat upright in his chair, grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth.  “Yes, finished.”    He stood and pushed the chair back, linked his arm through Qui-Gon’s and they walked back to the room in a pleasant buzz of anticipation. 

Even in the short time Qui-Gon had been at the House he'd made some changes to his room.  An incense burner glowed on the window sill sweetening the air with the scent of Charmwood, his Master's favorite meditation aid.  A small rockwater fountain bubbled in one corner and the bed was covered with a soft woven coverlet.  
  
 It was a welcoming room, full of morning sunlight and the strength of his Master within the Force. "This is nice."  
  
Qui-Gon walked past him, took off his coat and dropped it onto a chair.  "A certain young Submissive suggested I give the place a bit more of a personal touch so when I came back yesterday I brought a few things with me.  I suppose I had some idea of using the rooms again. . ."  
  
Obi-Wan felt suddenly at home with that feeling of familiarity, almost at peace for the first time in a long time.  He walked over to Qui-Gon, took a deep, happy breath.  "Master. . ."  
  
"Have I ever told you," Qui-Gon said, as he reached out to stroke long fingers along Obi-Wan's chin, "how much pleasure it gives me when you say that?"  
  
Without thought, Obi-Wan slid to his knees and wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon's legs.  "No, you haven't.  I shall have to say if more often."  He looked up into the watching eyes, wanting more than anything else to be what this man needed him to be.  Realised as well that fulfilling those needs suddenly seemed more important than anything.  "What else can I do for my Master that pleases him?"  
  
"I would ask that same of you.  What each of us does to please the other also pleases us, it is a continual loop.  What would make you happy, Padawan?"  
  
"Doing whatever you wish me to do.  In this place, in this time we have, your pleasure is mine."  
  
Qui-Gon moved his hand into the gleaming hair, ran his fingers through it slowly.  "That is a pertinent point.  If we continue to come here, to indulge in these pleasures, we must  remember that beyond these walls we are Jedi. We must  continue to work together as a proper Master and Padawan, bearing obligations outside our own needs that must be fulfilled."  
  
Obi-Wan nodded, angled his head up to stroke his face into the warm palm. "Understand and accepted.  Yet you haven't answered my question, Master. What can I do for you?"  
  
The hand stilled and he opened his eyes to see his Master looking down at him intently.  "It happens that I do have something in mind, a small game you might find entertaining.  Come, I'll tell you."  
  
Obi-Wan stood and followed him across to the chair by the window, sat at his feet while Qui-Gon spelled out the scenario.  Wide-eyed, he nodded slowly. "I.see.  Yes, that could be amusing."  He looked up through his lashes.  "I never imagined you had such an imagination, Master.  Or such . . .desires."  
  
Qui-Gon's mouth twitched in a brief smile.  "There is a great deal you do not know about me, Padawan.  Perhaps its time you started finding out. However, as a ground rule - if you feel at any time concerned that I may be going too far, your code word is the same one as we use in high level training bouts."  
  
"Break," Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon nodded.  
  
"Yes.  Simply say that and I will stop.  Understood?"  
  
"Yes.  But I won't.  Nothing you could do to me could frighten me so much."  
  
He was aware, suddenly, of a closing, of barriers being shut tight against him.  The face that he loved was suddenly the face of a stranger, a dangerous stranger.  "You think so?  How little you know me.  How interesting it will be to show you what you do not know."  
  
  
At the centre of the House were a number of rooms listed in the directory as Training Rooms.  They varied in size from a room not much bigger than a typical bedroom to something the size of one of the larger exercise rooms at the Temple.  Qui-Gon booked one of the larger rooms for the day and left Obi-Wan for an hour to return to Temple for some personal items.  When he returned he handed over Obi-Wan's Padawan clothing and lightsaber and  
instructed him to attend the training room, suitably dressed, and wait.  
  
He hadn't been in one of the House Training Rooms before so it was a fascinating place to just explore.  Basically a large square, it had smooth Golden Tearswood floors with matching warm buff walls lit by muted cornice lighting.  The air was cool and dry and his boots made sharp echoing cracks as he moved across the floor.  Each wall was around thirty metres from end to end and the ceiling was a good four metres high.  
  
The room held a number of objects that could easily fit into any gymnasium; vaulting bars, ropes hanging from the ceiling, evening something like looked like a trampoline.  There were other things that bore little resemblance to anything he knew.  An odd frame structure with rings and clips at each corner, a series of chains with straps attached as well as a number of simple poles bearing steel rings at about head height.  It looked a little a cross between a gym and a torture chamber, which latter effect was heightened by the various whips, canes and rods set in cases on the wall.  
  
Since he had no idea when his Master would arrive, he decided to make use of the room and enter into the spirit of the adventure by doing some regular exercises.  He tossed his robe onto a bench and began with warmups, stretching the tendons and muscles of his lower legs, swivelling his arms and head to loosen and warm the neck and shoulder muscles.  After five minutes of warm up he went into the simpler of the first stage katas, gradually increasing the pace and complexity, moving from first to second, from second to third.  He was approaching fourth level when the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness.  



	8. Chapter 8

He stumbled, almost fell in the sudden blackness and swung around, heard a movement off to one side and yelped in surprised pain as a small weight bar flew against his upper arm.  Small obstacles were being tossed at him, propelled unerringly by a powerful Force user.  He dodged a ball and was knocked off his feet by a chair that caught him in the back of the legs.  
  
A cold voice whispered to him from somewhere in the dark. "Clumsy, Jedi. Weak and clumsy."  He crouched low and scuttled across the floor to where he'd left his robe and lightsaber - only to find the weapon gone.  
  
"Looking for this?"  There was a flash of blue light some metres away and he saw his lightsaber suspended in mid-air.  "Come and get it."  
  
It was a trap, had to be, and he tried to pull at it, tried to will it into his hand, but it only wobbled in the air, held as if in steel by a strength much greater than his own.  He gathered himself and leapt, flipping over in mid-air and grabbing the saber handle, pulling it to him by simple physical strength as he landed on the floor.  
  
He ducked as another chair flew at him, then lashed out, sliced it in half. Two more objects appeared in his sight, one to the side, one in front and he spun about, sliced them both.  As he spun back another blade came to life - but this one was red and the figure, dimly outlined by its ruddy light, was dressed all in black.  As the blade was raised he saw that even the face was hidden by a black mask, the head covered by the cowl of a dark robe.  
  
"I've a fancy to taste you, little Jedi," the cold voice husked, twirling the red blade.  
  
"You think so," Obi-Wan hissed, swinging his lightsaber in an energetic arc.  "Then take me - If you can!"  
  
The red beam vanished, suddenly, and the figure faded into the shadows.  The voice spoke again, from a different place:  "Expect the unexpected, Padawan. Look for me where I am not."  
  
 Obi-Wan ran forward, leapt over a piece of equipment that was slid in his way, searched through the Force, found only distortions and shadows, reflections of power, misdirection.  He charged at a shape, only to find it was a pillar.  Heard a sound behind him and fell as ropes twined around his feet, tripping him.  
  
Before he could twist aside he was taken and held in an unbreakable grip, pulled backwards, wrenched around until he almost fell. He tried to kick out but his legs were knocked from under him.  As he scrambled to rise he was taken,  picked up and carried forward to be pushed, face first, against one of the central pillars.  His lightsaber fell from his grip and was lost to him.  
  
Ropes came from somewhere, were wrapped around him at chest and ankle.  His hands were bound with other ropes through rings at the top of the pillar. Finally, as he tried to call on the Force to loosen the bindings, a thin black collar was slipped around his neck and Force blindness swept down on him making the darkness even deeper.  
  
"There," the voice whispered hot in his ear, "that's much better.  My helpless little Jedi.  Let us see what we have here."  And those implacable hands began tearing the clothing away from his body until he was naked. His skin rippled with sensation as leather-gloved hands roamed over him, pushing against his ribs, pinching the skin  at shoulders and thighs, sliding into the warmth between his buttocks.  Another gloved hand moved between his legs to gather his genital and he winced at the proprietary strength that held him so helpless.  
  
Gloved hands began stroking his back in an oddly comforting way, massaging the muscles of his shoulders and back, stroking over his spine, big hands working him in sensual strokes.  The hands moved away for a few moments and a single light turned on, shining on him where the stood tied to the pole, making him the only thing visible in the large, dark room.  
  
Obi-Wan twisted his head against the pillar and looked sideways as the shrouded figure stepped alongside him.  He was a silhouetted against the darkness,  the slender body wrapped in black velvet and leather and even the face was covered by a mask, the head lost in the cowl of floor-length black cape.  
  
He stared, fascinated at the image, caught the glint of eyes through slits in the mask, watched a black-covered hand rise to stroke his head, run fingers down his cheek.  One hand continued to stroke his back, almost as if he were calming a spooked animal, hardly sexual at all but certainly possessive.  The other hand moved, fingers touched his mouth and when he opened his lips to speak a finger slid into his mouth and he tasted leather  The finger moved gently in his mouth, over his teeth and tongue and he closed his lips around it, sucked on it to savour the familiar taste of leather.  Then he remembered what he should be doing and pulled back, snapped his teeth together to try and bite but the finger was gone in a flash and he heard brief, short laughter.  
  
"So easily seduced, little Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan fought the restraints, snarled.  "Let me go, take this collar off and I'll show you .!"  
  
"I think not.  Now I have you, I would be a fool to let you go."  The hands returns to his back, rubbing over his skin until he tingled, sensitised and excited by the feel of those strong hands wrapped in leather, by the uncertainty, the unpredictability of each sweep of the hand.  The touch moved up his back, fingers took his braid and pulled his head back slowly, inexorably.  At the edge of pain the hand stilled, held him steady as the finger descended on his mouth again.  
  
This time he did bite, held on grimly as the finger was pulled back and he was holding onto leather as the hand slid from the glove.  He spat the glove out and the hand was back, holding his chin, forcing him to look up into that masked face.  "Ill-disciplined.  Now you have to be punished."  
  
The hands let him go and he sagged forward, grabbed the pillar and began pulling on the ropes.  A few seconds later Obi-Wan heard the snapping sound of something slender being struck against a gloved palm.  He turned, saw the long length of the cane held in the one pale hand and hissed his defiance.  
  
"You will apologise.  You will call me Master.  You will hasten to serve  me."  Then he stepped back and flicked the tip of the cane against Obi-Wan's left buttock.  
  
Just the tip, a light tap but Obi-Wan felt it through the big muscle like a tiny flicker of electricity.  The tip of the can was flicked across his buttocks, thighs, sides and shoulders in a rapid, light pattern, tiny sharp taps like the marching feet of a hundred insects.  
  
Not hard enough to hurt, too insistent to ignore and Obi-Wan wondered at the knowing touch.  It felt strangely hypnotic, tap-pause-tap, repeated over and over until the whole of his back from neck to ankle was fizzing in anticipation.  Then a hand lifted one foot and began flicking the bottom of it and he tried to pull away at the exquisite sensation that was almost painful and certainly very ticklish.  When both feet had been done he began working back up the legs towards the buttocks, gradually increasing the strength of the strikes, using more of the cane's length, less of the tip until Obi-Wan was being lightly struck by the top half in firm but restrained strikes.  
  
The rhythm was strangely relaxing, tingling and just on the edge of pain. As it struck that sensitive flesh at the bottom of his ass Obi-Wan realised he was becoming aroused; the touch of the cane vibrated through him like a tuning fork that struck some eerie deep chord within him, travelling directly through his belly to his penis and triggering its expansion.  It was the most erotic sensation he'd ever known.  
  
And then the blows suddenly increased in strength, snapping against his skin, the strikes sizzling and sharp, making him vibrate in pleasure/pain. He gasped, bit his lips to stop himself from sobbing.  Quinn had been good but this man was ...was a Master.  / /How does he know. . .??. . .wonderful .  .//  
  
He arched back, moaned as every inch of his skin tingled, every hair stood on end under the stimulation.  Ambivalent under the blows he hugged the pillar with both arms, bent his head, closed his eyes and swam in the hot sea of pleasure rising through is body.  He was on fire, hot and cold flashes ran up his legs and through his groin and he rubbed himself against the post,  needing contact, release from the pressure building in his loins.  
  
Hands pulled his hips back and he realised the blows had stopped, that his sensitised skin was being held against warm leather and cloth.  A voice spoke close to his ear.  "Are you ready for me, Padawan?"  The hands wandered over his hip, stroked the muscles with strong thumbs, slid around to the groin and down and Obi-Wan gasped as warm hands took his straining flesh and held him.  Callused skin rubbed him, hot and rough on the slick skin, thumbs flicking over the moist head.  "Will you take me now, young Jedi?"  
  
Obi-Wan pulled at the ropes desperately, gasped out his surrender. "Yes, . .please. . ." 

As the black gloves freed his feet from the ropes, Obi-Wan suddenly jerked backwards, kicking with both feet.  He heard deep laughter and then he was being held, his struggles smothered by a greater power. 

“Let me go!”  He snarled at the man behind him, twisting in the ropes. 

“I think not,” he said as he slid one finger against Obi-Wan’s sphincter, pushing gentle at the tight opening, caressing it, making it twitch.  “I will teach you things your Jedi Master never did.” He leant forward again, pushed aside the damp hair at Obi-Wan’s neck and bit down on the wet skin.  “Let me show you the way to passion, little Jedi. .  .” 

The slick leather-gloved hands slid between his cheeks, pulling him gently apart.  He didn’t know what would happen next and certainly didn’t expect the sensation of a mouth pressed against the hot skin between his buttocks, yelped with surprised pleasure at the feel of a long, subtle tongue against the hot entry to his body. 

He sagged in the ropes, breath coming in rapid pants, heart beginning to pound in a mixture of excitement and spiralling passion.  He could hear the soft fluid sound of that mouth working the opening to his body, licking and sucking him – and the hands were moving around his hips to fondle the swelling flesh between his legs. 

He heard the sounds of gloves being stripped off and suddenly he was free of the ropes, held in familiar arms.  He looked up into Qui-Gon’s damp features. 

“Enough of games” his Master said, the rough, hot sound of his voice making Obi-Wan body fizz.  “You are mine to take, to teach, in all things.  Damn all rules that say we cannot do this.  Do you belong to me?  Tell me!” 

“Yes, I want. . .you !”  The air throbbed with their need and Obi-Wan felt the power of his Master’s touch.  He pushed himself forward into those waiting hands, wrapped his arms around Qui-Gon as he was lifted and carried across to the exercise mat in the middle of the room. Qui-Gon stopped at the edge of the mat and set Obi-Wan on his feet, holding him steady. 

“Undress me,” he whispered, stroking the damp face, bending forward to kiss Obi-Wan open mouth.  “Slowly.” 

Fumbling and awkward, shaking with excitement, he went to work on the buttons of the satin shirt.  The fabric was cool to his hot hands as he worked, aware of being watched, aware of the rapid rise and fall of the chest under his hands.   When half of Qui-Gon’s chest was revealed he tried to move forward and press his face to the revealed skin but Qui-Gon held him back. 

“Not yet.  Be patient.” 

Obi-Wan mad a small, disgruntled sound but continued until he had the shirt undone.  He slipped it over the broad back and let it slide to the ground.  Next came the belt and sash, then the trousers.  He had to kneel to unbuckle the boots and when Qui-Gon stepped from those he was naked.  Obi-Wan stayed on his knees, licked his dry lips as he ran very unsteady hands up the long legs from ankle and shin, over knees and up to the thighs, caressing the soft hair of the thighs, letting his fingers gradually circle towards the aroused cock already standing up towards Qui-Gon’s stomach. 

Hands pressed with an insistent pressure at the back of his head and he bent to service that cock without hesitation.  Holding it with both hands, he stroked its hot, firm length, licked it and the large ball sacks it covered.  He felt his Master vibrate with pleasure and he felt his own arousal sparking through his loins at the intimacy and pleasure of that moment. 

He knew his Master could only take such treatment for so long.  No sooner had he taken half the solid length of cock into his mouth that he was pulled away and pushed onto his back, sprawled across the exercise mat with the full, naked and very hot length of his Master on top of him. 

Obi-Wan was so aroused he was barely coherent.  Tugging at the arms that slid around him, he spread his legs and wrapped them around Qui-Gon’s waist.  He quivered in tactile overload . .long hair stroking his chest, sweat-slicked skin stroking him from thigh to chest . .strong arms lifting him, big hands touching him until he babbled and looked up, helpless with need,  into an equally perspiring face above him. 

Eyes, blue, bright eyes so close…Qui-Gon bent and began licking the salty moisture from Obi-Wan’s face, his tongue sliding over cheeks and forehead, down the bridge of his nose, across his chin and onto his lips.  Obi-Wan opened his mouth, tried to capture that wandering tongue but it evaded him. Slid around to his ear, down his throat, under his chin as he arched his head back, breath rattling in his throat. 

“If I could bottle how you taste,” Qui-Gon said, his breath hot on the soft skin beneath Obi-Wan’s chin,  “I could savour you forever.  Shall I take you now, my Obi-Wan?” 

“Now. . .yes. . .and . . .could you ….oh. .yes… .”  Obi-Wan felt the hard nudge of the cock at the same moment as his Master spoke and pushed one hand into his mouth to stop himself from crying out in mingled pain and pleasure.  The pain eased – his Master had smothered it with his power and he groaned at the hot, filling pressure.  More multiple sensations;  hard thighs pushing against his behind, hands holding him hard enough to bruise, that mouth biting him on the shoulder with each steady thrust..  Hungry for something more savage, he pulled the hand from his mouth and held onto Qui-Gon as he surged up against him.  “Harder…more….!” 

Resting on his elbows, Qui-Gon obliged.  He pulled out, dropped his head and thrust inside so hard he pushed Obi-Wan down into the matting.  Obi-Wan cried out at the blunt prod against his prostate and they rocked together in rapid, violent surges, both men moaning with pleasure at the intensity of their lovemaking.  Obi-Wan grabbed handfuls of the long silvered hair, pulled Qui-Gon’s mouth down to his in frantic need as he came, shotting his seed onto his Master’s chest.  As he convulsed, his muscles tightened around Qui-Gon’s cock and that was enough to trigger Qui-Gon’s equally powerful orgasm. 

When the passions eventually cooled and they lay together in a sated and  tired sprawl, it was Obi-Wan who finally voiced the thought that was of equal concern to both of them. 

“Is this allowed?” 

Qui-Gon didn’t need further explanation since it was uppermost in his own mind.  He turned on his side and looked across at Obi-Wan where he lay sprawled on the mat next to him.  “Strictly speaking, no.  That is the main reason I came here.” 

Obi-Wan sighed and rolled over onto his stomach, rested his chin on his hands.  “Do they expect that Jedi can never take lovers?” 

“Jedi, no.  But Masters and Padawans, that is another matter altogether.  The rules regarding sex between Master and Padawans are well-founded, and quite justified, in the case of underage Padawans.” 

“I am not a child seduced by a ravisher.”  The tone was mildly annoyed and Qui-Gon repressed a smile. 

“I do know that.  I know also that you’ve had these feelings for me since your fourteenth year.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened.  “You knew?” 

Qui-Gon’s eyelids drooped as his mouth quirked up in a half smile.  “Yes, Padawan love, I’m fairly observant.  At first I thought it might be some unfulfilled passion you held for another girl or boy but there was never any evidence of that.  Then I realised it was for me.  I thought that, with time, it would fade since the young are often subject to infatuations as they go through the various changes of life.” 

“It did change,” Obi-Wan said, eyes unfocused as he remembered his youthful passions.  “I was so hot and anxious for you I thought I’d die of it.  But I knew you couldn’t return it.  Of course,” he said with a quick smile, “that didn’t make it any less painful.  So I went out, as I got older, had a few liaisons, tried taking lovers.  Sometimes it worked, mostly it didn’t.  I suppose I was waiting.” 

“Yes, as was I” Qui-Gon said as he watched Obi-Wan’s face, free now to observe the features that stirred so thoroughly. “You were a child then and I loved you as a child, without any thought of anything else.  But over the last year I’ve watched you become a man and I grew to love that man in a very different way.  You seemed to have moved on though, and I thought, Qui-Gon, you’ve been left behind.  Now he doesn’t love you even though you love him.  It was a humbling realisation.” 

“Though a false one.”  Obi-Wan moved closer, curled himself around the tall naked body of his lover.  “It is strange how things work out.  So, can we be together and still be Jedi?” 

Qui-Gon nodded, stroking one damp arm with affection. “Yes, but discreetly and only here.  When we at the Temple or on duty, we must maintain our Master and Padawan status.” 

“Until I am knighted,” Obi-Wan said with a satisfied nod. “Then all the restraints are off.” 

“I look forward to that day greatly.” 

“Let me show you,” Obi-Wan said with a brightness in his eyes that his lover was coming to recognise, “just how much I love you, my Master.” Then those young, strong hands worked their magic and they made love until the day melded into night and another morning rolled on, a day they could not ignore.  The last day of their rest break. 

As they dressed and made their farewells to Yarin and Quinn and Mr David, Obi-Won  knew he wanted to return to the House of the Rose and his Master, standing tall and proper at his side, was doubtless wishing for the same thing.

 


End file.
